Chewymom

If you’ve been reading on here for a while, you have seen me blog about my small town many times. It is Mayberry. And it is small. And by small, I mean between 50,000-75,000 people. And that’s why I say small is a relative number.

I was poking around recently, finding new blogs to read, and I came across Dandelions and Roses . I read her little bio, and she says she lives outside of a small town of about 6,000. Folks, that isn’t small…that’s TINY! But if some of you are picturing 6,000 when I say “small town,” then I need to correct the record.

I am originally from a large city. Very large. It has suburbs that are significantly larger than the town where I currently reside. I grew up there, moved away and came back for four years as an adult. The second time I lived there, DH’s commute was 45 minutes on a really good day, when there was “no” traffic. Most days it was over an hour, and if there was an accident anywhere within 5 miles of his path, his commute could easily be two hours. With the exception of carpool line, I could go for days and not see anybody I knew. Including neighbors. My children attended an elementary school with over 600 students. Trailers lined the outskirts of the main building, and they were adding an entire wing on one side (but not planning to remove the trailers). The high school near our old house had been on a dual schedule since the early 80’s due to the large number of students. Shopping malls were going up all around us. People with relatively large lots (between 1/2 and one acre) would sell their homes to a developer who would then bulldoze the home and put up two more. And sell them for $700,000 and above, each. I could not walk anywhere–I had to hop into my car for every little errand.

I spent a lot of money in our large city. If I wanted something, I could find anything at all at a dozen stores. Need a new bath towel? Run over to Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Or drive a little farther to Linens and Things. Or hop over to Target. New dishes? Pier One, Pottery Barn, Crate and Barrel all stood ready, within 5 miles of each other. Got the urge for electronics? HiFi Buys, Best Buy, and Circuit City were close by. There was no such thing as delayed gratification.

So, considering that is what I have to compare this town to, it is small. But to someone from a town of 6,000, I’m sure we appear quite large. We have a Walmart and a bookstore. We have a few grocery stores, two pet stores, and a mall. We even have traffic! At times, I’ve had to wait through two lights at 5:00 on the main road. And I’ve even seen up to 10 cars at this one stop sign, waiting for their turn.

I don’t run into people everywhere I go, but I definitely have to consider that possibility when I go out. If I don’t see a friend in the grocery store, I’m likely to pull up next to someone at a stoplight. As I drive around town, I spend a lot of time with my hand up, waving at people I know. Which can be tricky when I am also trying to sip coffee as I drive!

Our houses are known by names. When someone asks where I live, as I describe it, they are likely to say, “Oh, isn’t that the Sims house?” Or, “I remember when John used to practice basketball in that yard, did you buy his parents’ house?” We are only the third owners of our 40+ year old home, so our house goes by two names.

Our town is small enough that we sat near the mayor at a recent event. Not because we were special or anything–just because he was there and sitting near a spot with seven empty spaces. And I know a police officer, which came in handy when I was driving too fast in a school zone, and he waved and then motioned for me to slow down. As I’ve said before, we know several of the doctors well. That came in handy when DD3 poked a bead up her nose, and our ENT friend was willing to come into the surgery center, even though he wasn’t on call that day, and remove the little red bead.

Our town is also small enough that I send my 5th grader out to join the pack of boys that roam the neighborhood on bicycles. In our previous big city, no child of mine would have ventured farther than the block behind us. But here, he can roam fairly freely (he does carry a cell phone) as long as he is home by dark. The 8th grade boys all gather on the elementary school fields to play football on a nice afternoon. My 9th grader, who has Down syndrome, can ride his bike or walk the dog around the block alone, and I don’t fret.

And that is why I call this a small town. To some, it may sound pretty big, but to me it is small. Kind of like a cozy blanket, or a jacket that fits perfectly around your shoulders. Compared to our previous busy, stressful, aloof large city, our town is just a warm, cozy place to live!

As you can imagine, having five children, I get very little free time. Even though DD3 is in preschool a few mornings per week, that time is usually not “my” time. It is quickly eaten up with doctor appointments for me or the kids, grocery shopping, post office, and other little errands. If not that, then I’m frantically trying to straighten and clean (so that DD3 and her brothers can come home and unstraighten and unclean!). Even the evenings aren’t really mine. There are often school or church meetings. When we’re home, our two teenage-types don’t seem to mosey off to bed quite when we tell them to. That’s when they get “chatty” and think of all kinds of things to discuss. And by the time they’re headed off to bed, so am I. And in case you’re wondering what in the heck this has to do with football, I’m getting to that.

So, on Friday night we had a big, big home football game. The biggest rivalvy of the season, in fact! See, we have two high-schools here, and they share a stadium. As you can imagine, when the two teams play one another, the whole town is there. This year it was our team’s turn to be the “home” team. So we walked in, and started looking up, trying to find a spot large enough to fit seven of us. We were thrilled when we saw seats on the 50-yard line, near several friends!

We hiked up the stairs and sat down. Within two minutes, DS10 and DS13 were off to sit with friends, with the instruction that they were to check back with us when there were 2 minutes left in the game. A bit later, DS14 took off to sit with the high school kids. DS7 had found a friend from church and school whose mom was sitting two rows in front of us, so the two of them entertained themselves eating peanuts and being silly. That left only DD3.

Well, DD3, being a very social person hopped from lap to lap to lap. She sat with Miss K for a while–or rather she stood on Miss K. She had to be up high enough to see the cheerleaders. Little pom-poms started appearing around her, as people passed them over so she could shake them as she cheered. Soon, DD3 ended up in another lady’s lap–one I had never seen before. I overheard DD3 say, “I want to come to YOUR house!” After a bit, DD3 made her way down to another friend and sat in stood on her lap. Then she spied some of her little friends two rows up and sat with them. Then she started the whole process all over again. Along the way, she managed to con people out of roasted peanuts, popcorn, a drink, more pom-poms, and a bag of M&M’s.

DD3 was so well entertained (and spoiled!) that she did not give a thought to her parents! And with all five kids entertained and occupied, this busy Mom got a little break! Ah, yes…I love football games!

Well, here we are, in a small town in the Bible-belt south. We had a most unexpected news story appear in our little paper this morning. Let me back up and tell you what we usually read about in our paper. There are the national stories that appear in papers all over the country. And then in the other sections, there is lots of town news. There is always somebody we know mentioned. It might be a story about our pastor’s wife and her ability to shop. Or about the hurricane evacuees who have permanently relocated to our town (along with statistics about how many new kids from LA are in each individual school). Or maybe about our license commissioner’s surgery. Who is on the committee for the big Holiday Gala. Homecoming football games, parades, and queens were the big story last weekend. Quadruplets playing soccer, being coached by a triplet (my dh). Sinkholes in a nearby town.

So today, DH and I were quite surprised to find a local story about an assault during a worship service! That kind of thing just doesn’t happen here. It sounded like something from San Francisco or New York. But not our little town in the south. Apparently two people slipped into a catholic service just before mass. They were dressed oddly, for a church service, but the congregants thought it was nice that they had decided to come to church anyway. And then they jumped up, began screaming about Catholics worshipping idols, and knocked over a 500 lb., 100-year-old marble altar, smashing it to pieces. Some members of the congregation were able to detain the two, along with a few of their cohorts who were with them in the service.

A follow up article said that the two who are still being detained in jail said that they are not Christians but that they believe in Christ. And these are the end times, and God told them to do this. Hmmm….

The story ends with a quote from a church member who had attended an earlier mass. She says, “At first I was scared. Then I got mad and wished I had been there. I could have thrown my purse.”

We live in Mayberry. Not really, but darned close to it! One of the quirks of being in a small town is that high school football is as important as…well…the air that we breathe!

On any given Friday night during football season, all kinds of folks gather at the stadium to watch our beloved team. It is pretty cool, really. We see everybody we know–the boss, the pharmacist, the doctor, several neighbors, friends from church, a regular runner on the trail. They’re all there. People are dressed cute (this is a southern town, remember) in school colors. The ladies visit and check out who is there, while the men get into the game. All around you hear, “When I was the quarterback…” or “I remember when…” or “We haven’t missed a game in 25 years.”

There’s this small part of me–the “big city girl” part, since I grew up in a very large city, that wants to roll my eyes. Why can’t Mr. 40-something-with-the-receding-hairline grow up? Move on already! You aren’t still the linebacker. There’s life outside of Mayberry! When I was in high school, the only people at the game were the under 18 crowd, with the parents of the football players and a few band parents mixed in. Otherwise, it was a high school game being played for a high school crowd.

But then I shake my head and remember WHY we wanted to move to a small town! Oh yeah! These people who are so attached to this town that they’d rather move back in with their parents than leave here for another city. There’s a loyalty to the town, to neighbors, friends, other town-folk that just does not exist in a big city. Mr. Receding-hairline may have never ventured outside our city, but if he’s your neighbor and your plumbing springs a leak, he’ll be right there with his tools, helping you fix it. I know this because one neighbor snaked out a clog in our sink, and another brought his new tiller over when he saw me out hoeing a spot in our front yard. And it is precisely this sense of community that draws everyone to the Friday night football games. People care how their team does. These kids on the field aren’t just “some kids.” They are the children of your neighbors. Little Johnny who used to run around in his front yard in diapers. Henry’s kid…remember when Henry was quarterback? Blaine, who cuts our grass on Saturday. Jimmy, the pediatrician’s kid. There is a relationship with many on the team.

In a small town, people are not just nameless faces. People know one another and become involved in each other’s lives. And they care. And so, on Friday night, they go out and cheer on the kids with whom they have some kind of relationship. And they visit with other members of the same community. I can’t look down my nose and sneer and think they are backward or redneck. This town embodies the very sense of community that we were missing when we lived in a big city. This sense of community is the reason I can say to my children, “Go out and play…just be home in time for dinner!” And it is the reason I can leave my backdoor unlocked. It is the reason I do not fear when my children walk by themselves to school in the morning. And it is the reason we are here.

So now, I’m anxiously anticipating the next Friday night football game!

Just as I predicted, kids were banging on our front door this afternoon, wanting to see DS10. Funny thing was, it was about 1:40. During school! DS10’s teacher had called earlier and said, “Since you live across the street, do you mind if we all come over to see DS10?” I told him to come on! So here came 20 kids plus two teachers, along the sidewalk and across the street, during school! They were singing and yelling as they came up the walk. DS10 had no idea they were coming and was completely startled by the noise! They paraded into our den, grabbing up the kittens, petting them along the way. They surrounded DS10, all talking at once, asking questions, discussing his fall, telling him what he had missed at school this morning, and all talking at once. It was noisy, and sweet, and wonderful! LOVE our small town!!

CM

Yesterday I got that dreaded phone call from DS10’s school. DS10 had fallen on the playground and broken his arm. The whole 8+ hour procedure, from the time I got the call until we were home with a cast, taught me several lessons.

1. It is excellent to live in a small town and have a caring teacher. DS10’s teacher, Mr. H called my DH first (not sure why) right after DS10 fell on the playground. DH said he’d come right away, but it would take about 10 minutes. DH turned around and called me, and I hopped in the van. I live across the street. Then Mr. H called me and said, “Your DH said it would take him a few minutes to get here. Can I just run DS10 to the emergency room?” I told him I’d be there in 30 seconds.
Then when I pulled up at the school, Mr. H noticed DD3 in the van. Mind you, school wasn’t out yet–there were still about 45 minutes. But Mr. H said, “Do you need me to watch your little girl while you take DS1o to the hospital?” I assured Mr. H that my DH would meet me at the ER, and we’d be fine. Would that happen in a big city?? NO!
2. When it is a bad break, it looks really disgusting…rather like a second elbow just above the wrist. (I’m editing this to add that DH informed me that the break was a 35 degree angle. No wonder it looked so yucky.)
3. When people say that the doctor on call is “old school,” that is not really a good thing. After finally getting DS10 comfortable in the ER with an IV and some good pain medication, Dr. S said, “Just bring him to my office! We’ll straighten it out and have him out of here in no time!” The ER doctor refused (thankfully). So, five hours later, Dr. S moseyed over to the ER (in his defense, he wasn’t just taking his time…he had patients in his office).
When he arrived, he said, “Let me just inject some numbing stuff into the two bones, and then I’ll just set it here.” We mulled that one over, since we had been assured by everyone who crossed our paths that DS10 would be under anesthesia while the set the bones. And of course, we had assured DS10 that he would be asleep the whole time. He had been really, really scared about the straightening process. We finally said no, that Dr. S would have to use anesthesia. I think he was annoyed. At this point, it was 7:00, and he wanted to go home. So did we. And I think he felt that our son needed to just be tough and deal with it. I figured he had been darned tough to manage for the hour or so until he had pain medication.
Dr. S also did not prescribe a sling for DS10. He expected him to use his other arm to hold up the casted arm (the cast extends to just above the elbow) for the next two weeks. The nurses although seemed to think that was nuts, and got us a sling anyway.
By the way, the ER doctor thanked us for choosing anesthesia. We’re not sure why. I assume he thought it was nuts to set it there, and despite Dr. S’s assurances to the contrary, knew that it would hurt like heck!
4. DS10 has a lot of very sweet friends here. Although I had no signal on my cell phone in the hospital, DS10 received a zillion phone calls. Friends, parents of friends, his teacher Mr. H…pretty much anyone who knew he had been injured. I can imagine how active my phone will be at 2:45 today when school lets out! Shoot, since we live by the school, they’ll probably be banging on our door.
5. Another small town perk is that a friend just happened to be working in the surgical area last night. She was able to be with DS10 the whole time. This is not the first time we’ve had a friend with us at the hospital…DD3 was delivered by a friend. Another friend–an ENT– removed a large bead from her nose (also in the surgical area) while yet another nurse-friend assisted. The ENT friend actually came to the hospital just so he could help us–it wasn’t his day to do surgeries. Yet another friend–a surgeon–will likely be doing a minor surgical procedure on DS7 in the next few months.
6. When your kid is in pain, you might as well be in pain, too. It was all I could do not to cry as each bump was magnified by the intense pain in DS10’s arm on the way to the hospital. Every “ouch” and whimper, every cry of pain, was just awful. All I could do was say, “shh, shh, shh,” which annoyed DS10 until he yelled “I CAN’T BE QUIET! IT HURTS!” “Oh, I’m so sorry…I wasn’t trying to shush you….” I replied. Don’t know why I was saying, “shhh.” So I switched to, “I’m so sorry….You’re doing great….Hang in there….” I’m sure DS10 just wished I’d hush altogether.

DS10 is still sleeping, exhausted, on the sofa where he collapsed, exhausted after downing two slices of pizza and a peanut-butter/fudge milkshake from Sonic.

CM

Last night, we got a call. The person designated to give the devotional at the meeting tomorrow has backed out. They needed a backup and asked DH to do it. He has pondered it, wondered what to say, and mulled it over all day. He called a friend to see what that person thought would be a good idea. What comes to your mind when you are asked to give a five-minute devotional to a roomfull of young adults? Psalm 23? Some little message about raising godly children?

Well, the subject of the devotional is still up for debate. I’ll let you know when DH decides what to do.

Oh, and did I mention that this is for a public elementary school’s PTA meeting? A PTA meeting that in addition to having a devotional will also be opened with prayer. Yes, we live in a small, southern town where apparently that is still legal and tolerated!

CM

Mel’s blog got me thinking about my own “coolness.” I’ve realized though, that being in a small Southern town, cool isn’t really in. At least not for my generation. It is uncool to try to look like the cool teenagers. What the 30- and 40-something crowd seems obsessed with is being cute! We have to have frosted hair (no gray, and brown is definitely not “in”), pointy shoes, and sequined purses. Our outfits have to be trendy, even if we are just going to cheer on our child’s soccer team. We dress to the hilt to go to the mall, the PTA meeting, even to drive afternoon carpool–hair flippy, full makeup, coordinated outfit, cutsie shoes. And let’s not even talk about what we wear to exercise. No, let’s. No grungy t’shirts and running shorts–colorful, coordinated workout wear is an absolute necessity.

I’ll admit, I’ve got a few highlights in my un-cute brown hair. And I even caved to last year’s monogrammed pleather handbag fad. But I draw the line at the shoes. No pointy shoes here. No way. Comfort rules, with my old feet with high arches and plantar fasciatis. “But if you buy them 1/2 size large, they are SOOOOOO comfy,” gushes my friend about her three-inch heeled shoes. My shoes are clunky and large. Typically I’m in my Birkenstocks, but I did buy one pair of cute shoes. I think they’re adorable. They’re a Mary Jane style made by Keen, which is the “new Birkenstock,” I guess. All I can say is Keens are darned comfy with great arch support.

Anyway, when I got my shoes and squealed with delight at them and called them cute, my dh quipped, “Um, I don’t exactly think cute is the right word. I can’t see Val calling them cute.” And he’s right. Val is the definition of cute. Her clothes are darling, her figure looks like she never had a baby, although she has twin boys, she looks 20-something, even though she’s 40-something, her hair is frosted and very “flippy,” and her southern accent is so thick, it’s creamy. She is adorable. And her shoes are pointy and high-heeled, and there’s a pair for every outfit. No, my shoes are not “Val-cute.” They’re not even Southern cute. But hey, size 9.5 is not cute, and my feet aren’t cute, and I’d break my neck in Val’s shoes, and wearing a neck brace would be even less cute.

So Mel, I’m right there with you…not only am I not cool, I’m not even cute. Especially my feet.

I have been hesitant to blog about Katrina because everyone else is already doing an excellent job, and I don’t feel adequate to add to the discussion. I have watched in disbelief, just as everyone else has…rubbing my eyes to be sure this is really America I am seeing in the news.

Katrina has, however, affected my own town. Not in a huge way, but it is significant. We have quite a few new faces in my childrens’ schools as of this week. Some are living with relatives, some in hotel rooms.

Here are some of the situations in our town:

A guy at the local Red Cross said that they have received enough money to pay for hotel rooms for those needing them for two weeks. I thought that was an awesome and encouraging statistic!

One of my friends befriended a family who have three children: one in high school, one in middle school, and a baby. They plan to be here a while and have rented a home. They were able to go back to their house in New Orleans a couple of days ago with a truck. Although their first floor still has two feet of water, they were able to retrieve most of their stuff from the second floor, including clothing and some furniture.

Another family is living with their grandmother for at least a month. Their 2nd grade son came to our weekly Good News Club meeting that we hold in our house. Kids in his class (and in his brother’s Kindergarten class) are trying to include them in activities and invite them over.

Yet another family enrolled their children in the high school at the end of last week. A friend of mine, who also has high-school-aged children picked up the new students at their hotel and took them to the Friday night football game.

My heart wants to break for these kids….One high-school girls told a friend (who was a substitute teacher yesterday) how she just does NOT want to be here. POOF! Gone is her life she had in her school…her friends are scattered, any clubs or cheerleading activities are over, any status she had built up does not exist here, everything is new and different, and it was all so sudden.

These kids are sad, confused, lonely. There are so many, and they are all having to adjust to life in a new town. And yet they feel so temporary. How hard should they try to make new friends? How involved should they become in the activities around them? Do they try to find a piano teacher here? They missed soccer sign-ups in our town, so what can sports can they participate in? Who can they invite to their birthday party, or should they even try to have one? And whatever happened to the neighbor kid we used to play with every day–did he make it out okay? Where is he now?

As these children and their families try to piece thier “new” lives together and figure out what to do next, our town is trying to figure out how to help. Our efforts seem petty…donating a second fridge, an unused table, some of our extras. Buying toothpaste to add to the collection by the 5th graders. Hosting a drop-off-point for supplies. Having a yard sale or lemonade stand with the kids, so they can become involved. Lending a listening ear to a teenager, or having a 2nd grader come over to play for the day. It’s tiny. Not even a sacrifice, really. I pray it does help in some small way. I pray that our little, miniscule efforts show the heart of those in our town who want so badly to reach out and help.

CM

Gossip. Slander. Idle talk. Unwholesome speech. These words and phrases, when used to describe the speech of a female, conjure up a certain image. And let’s just say it is not exactly that of a Titus 2 or Proverbs 31 woman. The person who comes to mind for me is Rachel Lynde in Anne of Green Gables.

Believe it or not, I’m using those words to describe a group of Christian women. This is a group of between 5-10 women, all of whom fit most of the following: Christian (as I said), homeschooling, large families, in their 40s, been on swim team together for 6+ years. These women have had many hours to sit together and make idle chit-chat. Usually it is harmless. Comparing homeschool curriculum, chatting about the weather, comparing swimming times, knitting, new babies, latest books, etc. But this summer, it turned ugly.

This is probably not the first time swim-team-mom talk has turned ugly. But it is the first time I was aware of it. And unfortunately, I became aware too late to make a difference.

As I said these women are probably in their 40s and are Christians. Our coach is in her 20s and also a Christian and has two small children. These women had some complaints about Coach. They mentioned a few to the board who brought them to Coach’s attention. Some things changed, some didn’t. Some complaints were valid: “She does not think it is her job to clean the deck after a swim meet, but in her contract, it is.” Some were silly: “She has favorites and spends more time with them.” All got lumped in together, and a whole list of complaints was compiled. Secret meetings were called, with only those parents (no longer just moms…they dragged the dads in. Can we say, “Adam? Did the woman make you do it?”) who were already known complainers invited.

Collectively this group (most of whom never talked individually to the coach, many of whom Coach had brought from being non-swimmers to ranking at the state level, and some of whose children she had even carted to swimmeets for an entire weekend when the parents were too busy to attend a meet with their child, even allowing the kids to stay in her personal hotel room)…this group decided to quit the swim team. They will now be swimming for a rival team, one town over. Meanwhile, they made Coach’s life miserable enough that she also quit.

When I learned of this, just before all of the quitting, I questioned a board member about what was going on (and what were these secret meetings). She told me of the complaints, and then she said, “Besides, I think Coach really wants to quit and is looking for an out. She wants more time with her children. I think this will help her”

WHAT??? So, the slander and gossip is justified because we suspect this younger, Christian woman is struggling? And we can call that “helping” her???? Now, please show me the verse that says, “If a younger Christian woman, a fellow heir of the kingdom, with whom you will share heaven, is struggling, you who are older should gossip about her and hold secret meetings. Then you should sabotage her team and force her to quit, thereby helping her to be a godly woman like you.” I don’t think so. IF we are Christians and we have a problem, we go to the person. If she won’t listen, we bring a second person along. And IF we are Christians and we see a younger woman struggling, we come alongside and say, “How can we help? Is your schedule too busy? Can we help with cleanup? Are your children missing you? Can we help you create a more family-friendly schedule?” Even if Coach is getting paid, and we’re not. Even if it means setting aside some of our “rights” and the “rights” of our children for the sake of helping a fellow-daughter of the King. No, instead we just helped our coach by making her so unhappy and miserable that she finally quit!!!! The arm said to the hand, “I have no need of you,” and whacked it off.

But let me tell you who is really being punished here. The kids. The younger swimmers, whose parents haven’t been around long enough to have been told about the secret meetings. The families who have never in their lives walked into a church and who are looking on from the outside, scratching their heads, trying to make sense of it all.

Ladies, can we consider being helpful to our younger-woman friend and considering her (and in this case, the rest of the team’s) needs above our own? And can we follow the principles in the Scriptures that we claim to know and love on peaceful conflict resolution? And can we set an example on how Christians are characterized by love–a love so great that God Himself sacrificed His own son so that we sisters in Christ could live in peace on earth and be together forever in heaven? I hope so. In this, I don’t really speak to the ladies on the swim team–they don’t read my blog. But I hope other Christian women will consider this when faced with a conflict that is not within their own church but still within the body of Christ.

CM